There was a short in the
emergency beacon and Riddick couldn't find it. He was in no mood
to try and recall Electronics101, but without an operational beacon
there was no point in taking off again. Leaving here would be no
different than setting themselves adrift on an ocean. They could
float for weeks without seeing another ship.

He couldn't remember the
last time he'd felt this lousy. The wound in his leg had begun
to bleed through the bandages and it throbbed in time with a heartbeat
grown suspiciously fierce for a man sitting still. His stomach
clenched painfully, still working its way around the first real food
he'd eaten since a few days before boarding the ship with Johns.
"Don't you start," he muttered, wiping the sweat from his
brow with the back of his hand.

"So, how much
you worth, anyway?"

Riddick started,
nearly tearing out the delicate panel of circuitry that dangled before
him. Lying flat on his back with his head beneath the dash, he
hadn't noticed Jack's approach. Between the ringing in his
ears and his focus on the task at hand he figured a marching band
could've gone by without much notice.

"Why?" he
smirked, laying his head back on the deck and frowning at his work.
"You gonna turn me in?"

Her legs gently
brushed his sides as she stepped over him on her way to the pilot's
seat.

" 'Course
not," she replied. After a short silence, she added.
"Is it a lot?"

"That gonna
change your answer?" Riddick cracked a smile at her small
sound of exasperation. "Two and a half million U.S.
dollars. About two hundred seventy five million yen. Nine
million four hundred thousand riyal. New Tangier, not North
African. Twice as much alive." He shrugged.
"Whether or not it's a lot depends on where you spend it."

"Five million
bucks? Damn."

"Guess they
figure that'll make it worth trying," he said absently. He
squinted at a bunch of wires, unable to determine their color.
What little sun his eyes had been exposed to had washed the color out
of his vision. "Come here, kid."

"Down
there?" Jack leaned over to look at him.

"What the hell
do you think?" It wasn't said angrily, but it brought her
quickly to the floor. She knelt, then wiggled her way under the
dash beside him. When they were shoulder to shoulder in the
tight space he turned the panel so she could see the wires and pointed
at the ones in question. "What color is this?"

"Green,"
she replied.

"This
one?"

"Blue."

"Shit,"
Riddick muttered in return. "This one? Black?"

"No, that
one's blue, too," her voice cracked and she cleared her throat
nervously.

"Motherf..."
He scowled at the circuit board. Holding a single thin wire
between two fingers, he followed it to its source. The feeling
of Jack's eyes on him was nearly tangible and the muscles of her arm
trembled against him. Riddick reached across her for the
screwdriver and felt her flatten beneath his arm. "Take it
easy," he said. "I'm not gonna bite."

"That's not
what I heard," she replied, trying a smile.

Riddick gave a
short laugh. "Not what you heard, huh? What did
you hear?"

Jack paled
suddenly. "I...uh...jeez. The stuff they wrote in the
paper was pretty scary. My dad read the paper every
morning," she shrugged. "I guess that way it was
easier for him to pretend there was nobody else at the table."

Riddick noted the
swift change of subject and let the former question drop in favor of
another. "What's your name?"

"Jack,"
she responded without hesitation.

"Your folks
named you Jack?" He quirked an eyebrow but kept his attention
focused on his work. She straightened beside him and her voice
took on a note of defiance.

"Jackie.
Your folks name you Richard?"

"Folks didn't
name me at all."

"What's the B
stand for?" she shot back.

"'Beats-the-shit-out-of-nosey-kids."

"Is that
European?"

The cabin shook
with his laughter. "Smart ass."

Riddick could still
feel her watching him as he followed the wires with his good hand,
waiting for the shock that would tell him he'd found the right one.
There wasn't enough power running through them to hurt and he didn't
have the patience to take the console apart.

"Thanks,"
he said by way of a dismissal. Jack opened her mouth to protest
but instead squirmed from beneath the dash and returned to the pilot's
chair. As she stood, she leaned a hand high up on his thigh just
as a jolt and a quiet crackle announced his discovery of the short.

"Shit!"
he said in a harsh whisper. "Found it."Reaching
around and tapping on the dash, he added, "This blinking?"

"Uh-uh."

"Tell me when
it does."

He adjusted the
wire slowly until Jack tapped him. "It's blinking."

In a sudden burst
of sound, clicks and whines and static-marred squeals filled the
cabin. They seemed random at first, but Riddick soon recognized
a pattern beneath the static.

"What is
that?" shouted Jack above the din.

Riddick closed his
eyes and listened, counting out the clicks. "It's a
responder," he answered. When she didn't reply, he added,
"A ship. Probably answering the last distress call before the
crash. Must've been behind us in the shipping lane."
He worked his way from under the dash and hauled himself to his feet,
then flipped a toggle switch. The blinking light began to flash in
sequence with three others beside it. "Better stick
out our thumb."

"You mean
someone's coming to get us?"

"Looks that
way."

"Whoo-hoo!"
Jack whooped. As she turned for the ramp, the ship lurched
suddenly and Riddick launched himself forward to catch her as the
floor dropped out from beneath them.

Twelve

Jack
yelped as the ramp collapsed with a squeal of tortured metal and the
aft end of the skiff swung downward. Swept from his feet,
Riddick hooked the back of Jack's pants with one hand and reached out
with the other to stop their fall. He caught hold of something
but his bruised and swollen fingers soon lost their grip. They
tumbled and bumped over the deck and came to a sudden, violent stop
against the crazily bent ramp.

The
ship continued its backward slide, thrusting the aft section into
darkness before it lurched to a halt. The only light came
through the windscreen which now faced the sky.

The
air was filled with inquisitive whoops and clicks as the darkness came
alive around them. Riddick leapt to his feet and pulled Jack up
with him.

"Ow!
Wait, I'm stuck." She tugged at her foot, wedged between
two folds of metal, but couldn't free it. With a muttered curse
Riddick bent and wrapped a hand around her leg. Jerking
her foot out of the shoe, he picked her up and lifted her toward the
roof of the skiff.

"Grab
the edge!"

Jack
did as she was told, sailing up and over the side as he gave her a
push from beneath. The skiff had come to rest at an angle and
she could make her way back to the surface by climbing up the incline
of the ship's hull. Heart pounding, she turned to
make certain that Riddick followed. She was met instead by a
gaping maw full of glistening, yellowed teeth as one of the creatures
sprang at her.

Its
jaws snapped inches from her face and Jack shrieked in terror.
Bellowing its rage, the animal was pulled abruptly backward and out of
sight. Blind panic gripped her and she scrambled upward on hands
and knees, oblivious to the scrapes and bruises she received.

She
pounded frantically on the dirt where it met the hull and a narrow
beam of light burst through. Larger and larger chunks of
earth fell until Imam's face appeared before her, framed in sunlight.
His hand shot into the gap and snatched her wrist, drawing her to the
surface. Jack clung to him tightly with trembling arms until she
realized that she'd emerged from the cavern alone.

"Riddick!"
she yelled back into the hole. "Where is he?"

Jack
lunged forward but he held her back.

"Let
me go!"

"Rushing
to your death will not help him."

The
skiff jolted. Jack twisted herself free of Imam's grip and
scrambled to peer through the windscreen. Relief washed over her
when she saw Riddick pull himself slowly into the sunlight but her
heart skipped a beat when she saw the trail of crimson smeared across
the deck behind him. She swallowed hard and watched him hook a
blood-spattered arm over the pilot's seat to keep from sliding back
into the darkness below.

Frantic,
Jack pounded her fist on the windscreen. "Riddick!"

With a
sudden, wrenching effort he drew himself up and over the chair,
dumping his battered body across it where he lay with his back
to her and the blinding sunlight. One arm dangled and thin
streams of red spiraled down it, falling in large drops from his
fingertips.

Jack
beat the glass again, frantic.

"Come
quickly!" Imam shouted. She made a small, pained sound and
tore her eyes away, racing back to the hole. Imam knelt there,
knocking away loose dirt and rocks with the butt of the shotgun to
widen the opening. Jack started into it and again he restrained
her. "Light," he said simply, holding up a small
box of metal and glass. "Let us hope it is enough for them
to fear."

He
searched for a switch and turned it on, pointing the beam into the
darkness below. Jack listened with grim satisfaction to the
angry shrieks that followed.

"I
will crawl inside far enough to illuminate the way out," said
Imam.

Jack
shook her head. "One of us has to go in there," she
said. "He can't make it out on his own."

Imam's
brow creased. "I will go." He looked at the gun
uncertainly, then set it down. "And I will hope there is no
need for this."

"I'll
hold the light," she said. When Imam opened his mouth to
object she added, "You can't take care of both things at
once."

With
that, he handed the light to Jack. "Together, then,"
he said.

They
slid through the opening with the light held out before them, driving
the animals back as they advanced. Reaching the edge of the
skiff, Jack held the light at an angle, illuminating what area the
sunlight did not. In its pale radius were splashes of blue ichor
and the blistering corpse of one of the creatures. She kept an
eye out for movement as Imam lowered himself to the ramp and
disappeared from view.

The
skiff creaked in protest and as his weight shifted toward the front
the ship resumed its backward slide.

"Imam!"
she called. "Hurry!"

He
soon reappeared, struggling with the limp body slung over his
shoulder. Jack made sure the light was steady and reached out
with both hands, hooking them beneath Riddick's arms. She threw
her weight backward as Imam pushed from beneath and their combined
efforts got him onto the skiff's roof. Jack forced the phrase
"dead weight" from her mind as they struggled toward the
surface.

No
sooner did they emerge than the skiff's nose slipped from the rocks
that had supported it and fell with a crash.

Thirteen

Before it was a
prison, Hubble Bay had been the site of a high-class, beachfront
resort. When newer and more convenient retreats sprung up the
grand old girl had been scoured until she retained none of the comfort
and beauty of her former life. Windows had been bricked over and
exits sealed with thick metal plates; warm, soothing colors stripped
away in favor of institutional gray; and plush carpeting torn down to
the cold, hard concrete.

Rows of cypress
trees were replaced with two chain link fences topped with coils of
rusted, barbed wire. One was electrified but no one was sure
which. The fences were ten feet apart and trained dogs roamed
the space between them day and night. Guard towers rose from the
corners, manned at all times by men with instructions to kill anyone
attempting to escape. On the west side was a twelve foot
cinderblock wall that formed a broad rectangle. Near the top,
the blocks were filled with cement and broken bottles and shards of
colored glass were set into them. The play yard.

A line of men
dressed in dingy gray coveralls and manacled hand and foot shuffled
toward the heavy main doors, each linked to the man in front of him.
The prisoner at the end was as tall as the others and broader in the
chest. But his smooth face and eyes not yet dulled by years
staring at cold cement walls betrayed the youth behind his hardened
demeanor.

The warden was
a thick, broad-shouldered man, shorter than most of the convicts, but
what he lacked in height he made up in sheer mean-spiritedness.
There was a permanent crease between his craggy blonde brows and his
ruddy complexion made it look as though he were constantly simmering,
just waiting for an excuse to boil over.

"Welcome
to Hubble Bay International Penal Facility," he began.
"Pride of the Scandinavian Prison System. My name is Warden
Bayer and I am now the absolute authority in your worthless lives.
You will call me 'Warden', 'Sir', or 'Boss'. Failure to do so
will result in my putting a steel-toed boot up your ass. You
will obey myself and anyone wearing a uniform without hesitation.
Failure to do so will result in myputting a steel-toed boot up
your ass. You're in my world, now. This is all you need to
know."

Check-in was
done with the standard helping of casual brutality. One by one
the prisoners were released from their shackles, stripped and searched
before being allowed to dress themselves in a standard issue,
one-size-doesn't-quite-fit-all, bright orange jumpsuit. Then
they were assigned a cell and turned out into General Populace to
wander the place until they found it.

"Riddick,
Richard B.," the warden muttered. Eyes fixed on his new
charge, he crossed off the name without looking down at the clipboard.
"You gonna cause me any trouble,
boy?"

The man drew
his baton and begin to pace a slow circle around Riddick, looking him
over. "Where you from, boy?"

"Detroit,
sir."

"Know
where you are, now?"

"In your
world, sir."

The warden
paused in his step briefly, then continued, nodding.
"Goddamn right," he said. "You're a smart
fucker."

He stepped in
front of Riddick and regarded him through narrowed eyes for a moment
before giving the baton a sudden, upward swing. It connected
violently with the prisoner's unprotected stomach, sending a jolt back
up the warden's arm. Riddick staggered but didn't fall.

"I don't
want smart men in my prison," he growled and swung again.
This time Riddick went down, knees cracking against the concrete.
"Bad for business. Am I clear?"

"Yes sir,
Boss," he muttered between clenched teeth.

"D-block.
718. Get the fuck out of here."

Riddick stood
quickly and the warden balked despite himself, earning a dark,
humorless smile from the convict. Bayer held his baton at the
ready but let it drop as Riddick passed him by and disappeared through
the rusty metal gates of his new home.

*
*
*

Jack
wrung her striped shirt over the dusty ground and regarded with
growing anxiety the puddle of red that formed beneath it. By the
time she pressed it back to the rent flesh another pool had formed and
no amount of pressure she applied could slow it down. The
wild rhythm pounding out beneath her hands was at once alarming and
reassuring. A desperate voice in her head chanted along with it:
Don't stop don't stop don't stop don't stop...

Guilt
stabbed at her as she watched him sweating and shaking and struggling
to breathe. For her. She hadn't done anything to deserve
this. Her flesh and blood father would have pushed her in front
of a freight train to save his own worthless ass, but a murderer with
no incentive or obligation had risked his life in her defense.
The thought would have overwhelmed her with bliss were he not bleeding
to death on the ground in front of her.

Riddick
took a deep, shuddering breath and his eyelids fluttered for an
instant before snapping shut against the sun. Jack reached for
the tattered remains of his shirt and laid it across his eyes.

"Riddick?"

Jack
looked hopeful when he responded with a single word, uttered softly.
"Shit." She glanced up and smiled weakly as Imam
returned with a canister of water. He set it down and knelt
beside it.

"I
think he's gonna be okay," she said.

"I
feel pretty fucking far from okay," muttered Riddick.

"Then
certainly you are still alive, my friend," replied Imam,
unwrapping the cloth from his head. He pushed it beneath
Jack's hands and added to the pressure with his own.

A
high-pitched whine issued from below ground and Jack jumped as though
stung. "Oh my god," she said. "The ship.
I didn't...if the radio works... I can tell them we're here and we
need help and then they'll hurry, right?"

"Wha..?"

Jack was up and
running toward the gaping hole left in the ground by the skiff's
unceremonious descent, kicking up dirt in her wake. Despite
Imam's shouted protests, she snatched up the light and leapt onto the
ship's roof. Snapping it on, she lowered herself into
the darkness and out of sight.

"Hunter-Gratzner,
this is the salvage ship Death Maiden out of Port Safi, Malaga, New
Tangier. Your distress call has been received and we are en
route to your last known location. Do you read?"

The
message was met with static and the steadily repeating pattern of an
emergency beacon. Reggie frowned at the console, her freckled
face tinted green by the readout lights. Somebody had to have
turned the damn thing on. More than twenty-four hours had passed
since she'd intercepted the original distress call and there was
little doubt that the ship had already hit ground.
"Hunter-Gratzner, do you read? Please respond."
More static. She threw down the headset in disgust.
"Jasper, it's not working."

He
stepped forward from the shadows of the cabin and leaned both hands on
the back of her chair. Closing his pale eyes he tapped the
fingers of one hand in time with the signal. "That's
a crusty beacon signal," he said.

She
twisted in the seat to face him. "How do you mean?"

"The
format was changed years ago," he replied. "We can
still pick up the old standard but it's...it's like using drum beats
to communicate. The information contained in the signal isn't as
complicated and doesn't have the same range as say, what you'd get
with a radio."

"You
understand what it's saying?"

"Sure.
Beep-beep, click click beep...Try upping the juice."

"Ass."
She turned back, chuckling softly. "Hunter-Gratz..."

A
burst of static cut her off. It was followed by an uneven
pattern of hums and clicks. Jasper leaned over her and switched
the receiver to the next channel. The static eased, replaced by
an uncertain voice.

"Is
somebody out there?"

"Score,"
Reggie smiled.

"They're
not broadcasting on the standard emergency channel," Jasper
frowned and scratched the back of his head.
"Weird."

Reggie
nodded her agreement, slipping on the headset and pressing the single
earpiece close. "I read you loud and clear. Please
identify."

There
was a long silence on the other end, then, "Um, my name is Jackie
Weller. We need help."

With
an incredulous look at Jasper, she mouthed the words, "A
passenger?"

"Sounds
like a kid," he said softly.

When
she spoke again, her tone was softened and the formal language
dropped. "We're on the way right now. Are you
hurt, honey?"

"Not
me."

"How
many of you are there?"

Another
pause.

"Three."

She
held up three fingers for him to see. "Crew?" he
whispered.

"Are
any of the crew there with you, sweetheart?"

"No,
they're all dead." The voice, small and timid, became
insistent as it added. "Look, there's only gonna be two of
us if you don't hurry."

With
her hand over the mouthpiece, she turned again to Jasper.
"Tell Cappy we're a go for salvage. And we need to hotfoot
it, there's somebody hurt down there."

*
*
*

"I don't
give a flying fuck."

Feet shifted
and the other crewmembers eyed the floor nervously, preparing for the
inevitable face-off. All but Jasper, who watched them intently,
poised to leap to her defense.

Reggie's cheeks
reddened as her expression changed from shock to anger and her hands
bunched into fists at her sides. When she spoke her voice
was carefully measured, but it trembled with barely restrained ire.
"Cappy, it's a good run. I pulled the specs..."

"We'll
make the run," he nodded, steeling his gaze and knitting his
fingers behind his back. "But damned if I'm going to stress
the ship so we can pick up some fucking tourists. She's creaking
and leaking as it is."

The Captain was
a tall man with a large frame, but age and years of space travel had
trimmed away the bulk of his youth and left him with the lean, hungry
look of a scrap yard dog and a disposition to match. Reggie
refused to back down but inside she squirmed beneath his scrutiny.

"Manny,
Marty and I can take the drop and scout the site while we're at it.
It's faster, it's in better shape and..."

"And it's
expensive as hell to run," he broke in. "You take it,
the cost is coming out of your cut."

She met his
eyes. There was no anger in them and she hadn't really expected
any. It took a great deal more than a stubborn crewie to get the
Captain worked up. His expression questioned and she took a
moment to consider her answer. She had been hired on as
medical officer despite having managed only a year's worth of medical
school. The money she made here would go toward completing
her studies and this would put a significant dent in her savings.

But what sort
of doctor would she make if she let money interfere with the saving of
lives?

"Alright,"
her voice broke the uneasy silence. "Deal."

Fifteen

The
chill had fled the air, replaced by the unrelenting heat of twin suns
at midday. Crouched beside Riddick in the shade of the wreck,
Jack concentrated on the steady rise and fall of his chest as though
her will alone could force it to continue. Sweat
stung her eyes, sparking the sharp twinge in her nose and cheeks that
signaled the onset of tears. She wiped at her face impatiently
with the back of her sleeve. She didn't want to cry.

There
was no way to tell how long it had been since she'd emerged from the
skiff, flushed with excitement at their impending rescue.
Three hours, the voice had told her, until they were off this cosmic
dust ball. Three hours of hoping that Riddick would last until
help arrived.

The
sound of Imam's musical prayers drifted to her on the hot breeze and
inspired an impromptu prayer of her own. She turned her eyes
skyward, squinting against the washed-out blue.

"I
haven't been to church since I was four," she said softly.
"I've lied...a lot. And stolen, too. I can't think of
a good reason for you to listen to me, and you probably don't think he
deserves to live. But I'd do anything if you'd just give him a
chance."

Jack
scooted closer and gently lifted his head, settling it carefully in
her lap. Riddick sighed softly and shifted, resting his
cheek against the inside of her thigh. Her face reddened and her
heart skipped a beat and for a long moment she just watched him.
Unsure if he was awake beneath the blindfold, Jack reached down and
brushed his cheek with the back of her hand. Where there was no
stubble, his skin was smooth as hers and cool to the touch despite the
heat.

"Riddick?"

The
slow, steady sound of his breath continued uninterrupted.
Glancing about guiltily, she lowered her lips to his forehead and
kissed him softly. The contact sent a shock through her and set
her whole body tingling. Straightening, she scolded herself
inwardly. She was supposed to be taking care of him.

Jack
frowned. Imam's voice had quieted and in its place rose a low
hum that grew steadily louder and caused a tremor in the pit of her
stomach. She tilted her head and listened. A ship.

"You're
gonna be okay," she whispered.

*
*
*

"Christ on
a crutch, what a mess."

The Tolliver
followed the trail of wreckage and the broad scar in the dusty ground
left by the freighter's impact. Sheets of metal ten feet square
were scattered like playing cards over the planet's shining surface
and columns of thick, black smoke rose into the sky. Reggie
blinked at the debris, shocked that anyone had managed to survive the
crash that caused it. Beside her, Marty Bender leaned
forward in the pilot's seat, shaking his head.

"Trashed,"
he remarked.

One hand on a
bar of metal bolted to the ceiling, a third crewmember stood just
behind and between the seats, squinting in the harsh light that
blazed through the windscreen. "There was a good
chunk of cargo bay in one piece back there," he said.
"Nothing better than going through dead people's luggage."

"Got half
my wardrobe that way," nodded Bender.

"You guys
are sick," Reggie chuckled despite herself.

"But we've
always got extra socks."

A burst of
exasperated laughter escaped her and she gave them both a mortified
look before returning her attention to the torn landscape. Small
bunches of black, rectangular shapes began to appear, dotting the
ground on both sides of the trench.

"Manny,
are those..?" Reggie began.

"Cryo
lockers," nodded the man behind her.

"So many
of them," she whispered, watching them pass beneath the ship.
"How awful."

Manny nodded
his agreement. "See, the big company ships don't pass this
way. These routes are for second-rate shipping and for those too
poor to afford the fares of regular liners."

"Aw,
Jeezus, here it comes," Bender muttered.

Manny continued
as though he hadn't heard. "There isn't much money in
keeping the lanes clear; so no sweepers, no up to date charts, no
regular lane maintenance, nothing. Nobody gives a damn what
happens to a bunch of freelance diggers and settlers who can barely
scrape up enough money to pay their taxes. And the Lane
Commission has so many officials in its pocket that it's unlikely the
conditions will ever improve."

Bender raised a
fist in the air and gave a half-hearted shout. "Stick it to
the man."

"Flare,"
replied Manny.

"What?"

"Flare,"
he repeated, pointing ahead.

A ball of pale
pink flame raced upward, barely visible against the washed-out sky.
It hovered for a moment at the top of its arc, then fell, trailing
sparks.

"There,"
said Reggie.

Below, a
single, robed figure stood on the glistening plain and waved as the
Tolliver passed overhead.

"It's the
source of the beacon," said Bender. He paused, easing back
the throttle. The engine whined and the craft shuddered as it
slowed. Bender argued briefly with the stick as he engaged the
landing thrusters. "Give us a little leg, Reggie," he
grinned.

She gaped at
him for a moment, then mouthed a silent 'oh', and flipped a large,
green toggle switch over her head. "Landing gear
engaged."

A cloud of dust
surrounded them, obscuring the wreck from view.

"Either of
you armed?"

"Martin,
seriously..."

"Okay,
no." He glanced from her to Manny, who shrugged.

"Sorry,
man, I'm a pacifist."

"Bullshit."

Reaching behind
him, Bender produced a small pistol with a wide barrel. He
chambered a round and tucked the gun into the back of his pants.
Grinning, Manny did the same, though his weapon was smaller.

"Mine's
bigger."

"You
wish."

Reggie punched
the hatch release and headed down the stairs, throwing over her
shoulder, "Just try to keep them in your pants, guys."